My mind still churns from recent revelations. Three dead bodies in a single day. All women. All connected to this house. And soon, Edward Rochester will return home to tie up loose ends.
“You need to explain your plan to protect me from your psycho brother.”
Rowland rubs the back of his head and stares at his lap. Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating his scraggly beard and eyes that dart around like he’s expecting punishment.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“I’ll overpower him before he gets the chance to hurt you.”
“Just like that?” I ask.
He sits straighter. “What does that mean?”
Lips tightening, I switch on the kettle and reach for the tea bags, pull cups from the cupboard and set them on the counter. What I say next has to be worded carefully, since I need Rowland’s courage.
I grew up with younger brothers, along with boys who were technically my stepsons. One thing men have in common is bravado. They talk tough, overestimate their abilities, and never grow out of that bullshit. Men always make promises they never keep, but I’ll hold that observation to myself. Right now, I can’t afford to discourage Rowland.
The kettle rumbles, building toward a boil. I lean against the counter, studying his scarred chest through the torn shirt. Some of the marks are so precise, they could only have come from being tied down and tortured.
“Annalisa?” he asks, his thick brows knitting together. “Please tell me what’s on your mind.”
Those scars mark decades of torture. Decades of subjugation. No one suffers that long and comes out able to protect others from their abuser. I hesitate. Gather my thoughts. Search for the most tactful way to voice it.
“If you can defeat Edward, why were you his prisoner for so long?” I ask.
“My mind was imprisoned,” he replies, his voice pained. “Father and Edward treated me like an animal. They made me believe I was too dangerous to exist and had to be controlled with punishment.”
I swallow hard, my chest aching. Family has a way of brainwashing a person until they can’t tell wrong from right. The only reason I didn’t end up like Rowland was because I took such drastic steps to leave.
The kettle erupts in a sharp whistle that makes meflinch. I pour hot water over the tea bags, add milk, and set a cup in front of Rowland.
“You’re telling me your mind is free now?” I ask.
He gives me an eager nod.
“What’s made the difference?” I take the seat opposite and blow on my hot drink.
“I finally have something to fight for.” He gazes up at me, his eyes softening.
“What does that mean?”
He reaches across the table, places his hand over mine, and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. The touch is gentle, reverent, like I’m something precious instead of a fugitive hiding from the law.
“The night you waved back made me so happy,” he replies, the words choked with emotion. “No woman ever invited me in before. No woman ever begged for me.”
My throat closes, and I lower my lashes, unable to withstand his hopeful smile. He thinks I chosehimover his brother, when I didn’t even realize there were two of them. The truth sits heavy in my chest like a stone, but I can’t shatter whatever hope is keeping him functional when I need him to survive.
I bring the cup to my lips. “How exactly will you protect me?”
“I can take Edward’s place. Become him.”
My stomach dips. “Switch identities?”
“Why not? Everyone thinks I died the same year as Adele. Edward is a recluse. We’re the same height, same build, same features.”
“What will you do about your brother?” But even as I ask, I already know the answer. Can see it in the way his jaw sets, the hardening of his black eyes.
“He joins our sister.”
